Silence

It’s funny how, after finishing a book and releasing it, I always feel quiet. Not that I don’t have things to say, just that I have said a lot and I feel guilty. I feel immense guilt at telling the world about my parents, as if I have betrayed them. It makes me even more quiet than normal; this of course gives me time to think. Not just about my writing, but many things.

A friend who will ignore me in a desperate time, yet issue cruel words when I  give up and walk away, or the father who offers me many things, only to take them away when I reach to take them. Now reprimands me, when he offers, and I say no. photo(1)

I seem to be learning many lessons, but for every lesson I learn, comes another consequence.

Each day is a fight.

One day in the last couple of weeks, I don’t know what day it actually was, I sat in my car, just pulled up and looked out at the river in front of me, a place I like to go and spend time. I felt like I was ready to jump. I couldn’t for one thing, think of a good enough reason why I shouldn’t end it right there and then.

I knew I couldn’t because of my children, but it left me pleading inside someone to help me and make me go away, because in that moment, I just couldn’t stand the pain of many things, things that I will never understand.

The only thing at the moment, that is letting me breathe, are the days I give in and self-harm. Yet as much as I self-harm, I can’t dig in deep enough. I daren’t even try, because what I am fighting with at the moment, is the child that doesn’t want to be here anymore, because he took his heart out, and realises it is broken.

Goodbye Teddy

Goodbye Teddy

Motherly Walls and Brick Hugs

I was reading something today about hugging, not general hugging, but actually the way people use hugging in therapy for Autistic children, it can seem quite a bullying technique. It made me think however, about how my dad used to force hugs on me, not the friendly fatherly kind, but the kind that pulled me close to him because he had an erection and he thought it was amusing to tease me in such a way so that I was squirming to get away from him in case he did something.

I don’t think I ever got a real hug from my parents. When I am looking to blame myself for childhood events, often people tell me that children crave affection and that they need love and hugs. This is one of those things I’ve tried to understand, because with my parents and their abuse, sometimes I went to my dad. When I have said this before I have been told that it was because I was starved of affection and it was the only way I could get any. I’ve never really believed that was the reason. I don’t remember being starved for affection, I know I didn’t get any, I just don’t remember thinking yep I want a hug, so I’ll go and let my dad sexually abuse me.

Today though whilst reading about this hugging therapy and that children need hugs for whatever reason, perhaps it’s just because I am nearing the end of Dear Teddy 3.5, but suddenly I remembered a child that would hug a wall or the door frames. At night when I didn’t feel very well I would hug myself up against the wall and cry and try to get some comfort from it. At school when no one could see me I would lean against the cold bricks and hug them too, putting my small fingers into the gaps between the bricks and closing my eyes, or when my mother couldn’t see me and I was in the dining room once again having been punished for whatever I had done, I would hug the wall between that room and the kitchen. Concrete_wall

I realise I actually still do it now. When I am sad or upset I lean against the wall so the side of my face touches, I stand so that the frame of the door fits against my shoulder and I can lean my head against it. It’s always been soothing me. My children ask what I am doing when I have stopped hallway down the stairs and I’m just leaning against the post.

I guess I don’t remember being starved for affection because I found a way to replace it. The wall.

Forgiveness, The Afterthoughts.

Yesterday I wrote about forgiveness and how to do it, almost after I had posted it and replies came in, it occurred to me that perhaps it isn’t my father or even my mother that I have to forgive. Perhaps it is the little boy himself that needs the forgiveness. 

I’ve hated him for a very long time, to the point if anyone asked me I would say, I would happily push him down the stairs and hope it hurt for the things he did.  But I have to ask myself, if he were a real child stood in front of me, if he was anyone but me, would I do that to him and no of course I wouldn’t  I would never hurt a child.

In a way it is like I am on the side of my mother and father, I help them to abuse him even more because I blame him. I get asked many times if I think I could confront him about the things he has done and I can’t, not that I am afraid of him, but if I confront him, then he will know that he abused me and I don’t want to hurt him. How strange is that? But it’s what I feel and I think, points to I actually have to accept that what my parents did was abuse, because I don’t, and I only call it that for the sake of here. When I was in therapy I could never say it out loud, it felt like I was lying, not about the events, but about the label.

I found myself nodding a lot to the replies I received yesterday; one of them was from someone named Lil, her words were so very true. Especially about my recent issues. I have a very hard time right now sticking to the decision of having my father out of my life. He doesn’t make it easy because he keeps emailing me and messaging me, of course none of them are nasty, in fact most of them are so nice its heartbreaking, because he is teasing me with exactly what Lil mentioned the answer to my craving for a parent.  He’s showing me what I have longed for my entire life, but part of me knows that if I go back, he’ll snatch it right back again.

And here I am, full circle in my thoughts, I don’t accept that what they did was abuse, I don’t accept it because it’s my parents., I can’t let go of the belief and hope for the parental love back. I blame the little boy for what he did and making me who I am today, because if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have been abused and would have the relationship I so clearly want.

I need to forgive that child. I need to forgive myself.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness.

It’s a strange word and while I do know what it means in theory, knowing what it means in feeling it is a completely different thing. I am not even sure if it is something that is possible. How exactly do you forgive someone?

I am not a religious person; I don’t believe in God, I know a lot of people will answer with regards to their faith of God and forgiveness. I think if I did believe in God I wouldn’t know how to forgive him either.

I guess forgiveness comes in many shapes and sizes; it makes hypocrites out of us. Me especially. I haven’t been very good with keeping up with people this last month or so. Not that I have ignored anyone, or not replied, I just haven’t had it in me to talk. Messages have gone unanswered, my phone has been left, emails not responded to. Yet I in some way expect and hope that these friends will understand when I say I am sorry. Many of them have thought they have upset me and that isn’t the case. It’s just a bad time and I hope they forgive me for my lack of communications.

But forgiveness is probably part of why I have been quiet. I wonder if discovering forgiveness would be the key to removing or at least healing the pain inside. It was my birthday just a couple of weeks ago. It’s never a good time; it makes me anxious and afraid. I’d happily ignore it if I could. This year was worse, added to that is my decision to not have my father in my life. It’s made me very ill these past few weeks.

My hands are very sore through the overwhelming feeling of not being able to get clean, though I know some part of this is my minds way of coping with everything else. I do suffer from OCD and when it is at a point that my hands are bleeding, I know I have something bothering me. The fact that even my wrists are cut and bloody tells me I have a problem. I have had days of not eating and over eating. Nights of no sleep or nights plagued with bad dreams, but the biggest one is, in ten days I have only had two days where I have not self harmed. Some of myself harm days have been multiple occasions.

I look at all of this and why I do these things. I feel sane on the outside, but my actions feel far from it. None of my insanities can ease the pain I feel inside. I wish if I could give my father anything, it wouldn’t be confrontation, but it would be a day of feeling what I feel.

Forgiveness might be the key, but how do you do it? I’m not sure it’s possible. I wonder if forgiveness is real at all, or is it just something we convince ourselves of?

I See

I see

I see your smile
One that hides so many secrets
Yet it’s real
Your innocence

I see your eyes
Eyes that have seen a hundred things
They shine so blue
There’s no sadness in them

I see your face
Just a child
Pure and
Without ruin

But then
Dark shadows loom overhead
Cover you
Embrace you into their vicious arms

Their darkness seeps into your skin
The innocence was fake
Never were your eyes so pure
You were already bad.

A devious smile that can act so sweet
Lying eyes shine with intent
The pure face of insincerity
A child, I was.
A lie.

Illusion

Inside when I am breaking.

You do not see the damage you have done.

No tears from my eyes because my crying is silent,

but a smile upon my face.

The illusion of my existence.

 

Would you cry for me if I were to die?

Would you weep? Would you care?

Perhaps you would relish in the sympathy of others.

Fake tears in your eyes, a real smile upon your face.

The illusion of your existence.

 

I wish I could show you the pain in my eyes.

The tainted colours of my soul.

The shattered pieces I carry inside.

No glue to bind me.

No love to make me whole once more.

It’s the illusion of my life.

 

You walk through life a gracious man.

Not wearing the vile seeds you grew.

The deeds that stain your essence.

A proud man for all to love.

That is the illusion of your life.

 

This is what this is.

This game you play.

An illusion of father and son.

I am nothing more than a mirror for you to gaze and smile at your perfection.

 

A narcissistic façade.

 

Created in the illusion of your creation.

Sometimes I cant Find The Words

Sometimes I cant Find The Words

 

Sometimes I cannot find the words

To tell you what you’ve done

The pain and anger that’s inside

Created by you, mum

Why was I not enough?

So that you’d leave me whole

The one that you gave a life

Then stole it from my soul

It wasn’t me that did it to you

It was my dad that made you cry

The one that beat and forced you

Did you love me? Did you try?

I came from evil deeds that’s true

And was born into your home

I paid for the price for what he did

So many nights I cried alone

You’re the one that chose to sacrifice

But never put me first

Every day you broke my wings

And crushed them until it hurt

You cast a shadow on my life

And took away my dreams

You stole my childhood from me

And broke me at the seems

Was there even just one day

That my smile was enough

To make your life a little better

And maybe not so rough

I loved you every day you know

With all of my heart

Through all the pain you gave me

And every time I cried

I lost the innocence you changed

It died so long ago

You didn’t love me because you had to

Not ever, not even just because

I wonder what it feels like

For my mum to be my friend

To keep me safe and warm and loved

For that love to never end

Its taken time to realise

I’m not sure how to say

All the years you hated me

They made me this way.

I don’t know how to change

To fix what I become

I’m so damaged deep inside

Maybe you’re proud of what you’ve done

I don’t really have the fight right now

Or the strength that no one sees

To long I have spent crying

For all you did to me

Thank you for the gift you give

For everything I do

Maybe when we meet again I’ll find it in my heart

Maybe I will forgive you.

A Boys Journal. Entry Five. Date and Title Unknown.

A Boys Journal. Entry Five. Date and Title Unknown.

 

Why can’t you love me?

Why can’t you care?

I stand here always

Waiting for you

It not fair

I cut myself

I burn and I bleed

I do this for you

It must be me

It’s just what I need.

I’m waiting

I’m hurting

Cut open

And done

I’m nothing

I’m no one

Can’t you see?

What I’ve done

I want it to be over

To cut away my pain

Was it my fault?

Am I that bad?

Am I to blame?

I need to feel it

Deep inside

The things I did

Shame

Not easy to hide

I dream of the pain

It doesn’t feel wrong

The release that it gives

The freedom

I don’t belong.

It never works

It’s all a façade

Look as I bleed

The scars that I bare

The cuts that I made.

I won’t do it again

It’s more shame that I carry

Sat alone with my pain

Slicing my skin

Just one more time.

I asked you to stop.

I asked you to stop.

 

How could you

How could you

I asked you to stop

But like always you didn’t

Just a moment you said

I pushed with my hand

Because you hurt me so much

One minute is all you said

Because you didn’t care

I hate you so much

I cried and I pleaded but you didn’t cease

I’m so f****** angry

That I can’t get it out

It’s your fault that I’m like this

You did this to me

I hate you

I hate you

My brother was watching

You tarnished him too

He held my hand when I cried that night

Not you or my mother

No, you laughed and you joked

And none of you cared

I hope that you’re happy

I can’t even love you

Today

The memories of today never get forgotten
The Ache inside that sleeps
Like a reminder of this day
What was gone
What got taken
The saviour of a different kind
Freedom burdened with guilt
Do I stand and say I’m free?
Or do I mourn that only I got to tomorrow
Without you
The echo in my mind hears
It listens to the deafening silence
Tears never allowed to fall
Held back by the hands of blame
Remorse chokes me
For what I would give to change this day
Maybe you wouldn’t have gone away
Maybe I’d have one last moment
To talk to you
To see your smile
To feel the love never given
Maybe I was a fool
But you were still my mother
And you aren’t here